


Not Dark Yet

by themus



Category: The OC
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Death, F/M, Future Fic, Graphic Description, Grief/Mourning, Mild Language, Past Character Death, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-05-12
Updated: 2006-05-12
Packaged: 2019-02-23 10:26:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13188147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/themus/pseuds/themus
Summary: 'Sometimes my burden seems more than I can bear. It's not dark yet, but it's getting there.'





	Not Dark Yet

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the prompt 'Hanging' from Brandywine's Table of Death on Livejournal. It does therefore contain death. Please skip to the end notes for the spoilery warning if you're at all squeamish. This is an upsetting one, I can't stress this enough.
> 
> Inserted lyrics by the great Bob Dylan.

 

Ryan pulls the navy blue ribbon taut in both hands. One loop, two loops, knotted together. He makes a double knot and traces thick, calloused fingers along the edges of the box. The ribbon is smooth across the surface, the bow tight in the centre of the box, keeping the contents secure.

_Everything is so quiet._

He rubs his thumb along the shiny azure wrapping paper, following the outline of the space rocket.

His son wants to be an astronaut.

When Theresa told Dan to reach for the stars, Ryan didn't think he'd take it literally.

Ryan smiles to himself and picks the box up, holding it securely against his stomach, a plastic bag with his work clothes dangling from his other wrist. He ordered the gift specially from one of the huge toy stores in the city a few weeks ago, and rushed out during his lunch break to pick it up. The traffic was worse than expected and he didn't have a chance to eat, but while he worked the rest of the day away he knew the gift was safe in the trunk of his car, waiting to be wrapped.

He pushes through the flimsy door of the portable cabin and steps out onto the metal walkway and the stairwell which leads down past the sheer embankment to the ground. It's unusually warm for January, even in California. The radio predicted a thunderstorm, and from this vantage point almost a story above the ground Ryan can see the beginnings of a dark black cloud seeping along the edge of the skyline.

The handrail is baking hot, too hot to touch. He can feel the heat from the steps radiating up through the thin soles of his sneakers. Even the gold ring he wears on his third finger is too warm. His thick rubber-soled work boots are in the bag banging against his knees, the impact from the steal toe-caps probably leaving a bruise that he will have to explain away later.

The air is almost unbearably humid and smells of moist tarmac and electricity.

Ryan trots down the steps, feeling the structure jolt each time a foot connects with the worn tread. Halfway down someone has tied barrier tape to it - leftovers from a worker's bachelor party – and the two long trails of lemon yellow advising caution now flutter in the hot breeze.

_Standing, feet firm on the floor._

Ryan's car is on the far side of the construction site, so he cuts through, waving a brief goodbye to Davis and Vega who are ambling in the opposite direction.

“You gonna join us today, Atwood?” Davis calls back, a big grin on his bearded face. “You still owe us a round.”

Ryan just turns and wiggles the gift back and forth in the ochre glow of the setting sun.

“It's his kid's birthday, man,” Vega reminds, elbowing David good-naturedly in the side. “See ya Monday, Atwood.”

“Don't forget to lock up this time, huh?” Ryan grins and flaps a palm at them, then spins again and continues walking. His sneakers thump on the hard ground. The main gate clangs shut behind him as Ryan reaches the far side of the lot. The sun is almost down now, the sky dark above him with the threat of the cloud still creeping over the buildings to the northeast. The ground and his feet are soaked in red from the last vestiges of the violent sunset. Ryan goes through the smaller gate in the fence and closes it after himself, snapping the fat silver padlock shut. The lot is beginning to settle into darkness. Around the corner, unseen behind the wooden construction barrier, he can hear the familiar throaty roar of Vega's Chevy C/K as it starts up and accelerates away, gradually melding with the quiet hum of traffic. Ryan walks to his car, deeper into the evening dusk away from the main street. The streetlamp he parked under is busted, the glass smashed and scattered over the sidewalk, leaving the spot a dim grey between stale pools of yellow. The glass crackles loudly under his feet like shifting ice when Ryan steps up to his car.

He fumbles in his pocket for the keys and bends down to unlock the car door. His boots in the plastic bag tap arrhythmically against the Buick's dull white paint, the weight reducing movement as Ryan tries to turn the key.

A distant laugh is swallowed by the humid air. When Ryan looks he can see three youths sitting on the low brick wall of the abandoned lot further down the empty street, a fourth on his bike, forearms across the handlebars, rocking the wheels back and forth with an idle movement of his feet. The boy catches Ryan's eye before looking away again, disinterested.

Finally the lock clicks and Ryan yanks the door open, throwing his boots over the seat and into the back where they land with a thud and bounce off into the footwell. Getting in, he places the gift on the passenger seat. Its colours are dull in the uniform grey of the car and Ryan realises that the interior lamp isn't working. He reaches up to flick it on but nothing happens. He pushes the switch one way, then the other, patting the plastic cover. The light flickers on for a moment, then off again. Ryan makes a mental note to check the wiring again. He is reaching for the door when he remembers that all the notes for his assignment are back in the cabin. For the last year he has been taking night classes at the local community college, making up the required extra semesters to apply to Cal Poly - hard work with a family and a full-time job - and this physics assignment is worth a large chunk of his grade. Ryan knows it will be harder if his application is successful, even with Sandy and Kirsten's financial support, it will still mean leaving Theresa and Dan in Chino five days a week and an eight-hour round trip each weekend. But a degree in architectural engineering will certainly improve his career prospects. And if Dan still wants to be an astronaut in ten years, then Ryan wants to be able to make that happen.

He looks at his watch, halfway into the car with a foot still resting on the curb. The hands glow a faint green in the dusky interior. It's twenty-five past five and he has to be home by six at the latest, when the party is due to start. After a few seconds of deliberation, Ryan exits the car again, shoving the door shut and relocking it. He throws a glance back at the boys on the corner and notes with disquiet that they're all watching him now.

It isn't until he gets back to the gate that Ryan remembers it's locked, and only the foreman has the keys. He almost gives up on the idea, but the prospect of wasting an entire two days of study time decides him, and he's up to the wooden barrier, grasping the top of it with both hands. Bracing a foot against it, Ryan kicks himself up and over, landing a little awkwardly on the sandy ground the other side. A simple padlock never kept him out when he was a kid, either. The locks and the bright yellow hazard signs are there for insurance purposes more than anything else.

Ryan makes his way back through the site, walking by memory and instinct where the faint glow of the streetlamps doesn't reach. A misstep could land him down one of the deep holes that have been dug for the foundations – great sheets of concrete poured and set with long protruding steel rebars. He comes up against a palette of breezeblocks in the dark, knocking his shins and skittering backward automatically to avoid smashing his face. He puts out a hand against the rough surface and guides himself round it.

The humidity seems to have doubled since Ryan left the car and he wipes an arm across his face, smearing the thin film of sweat on his forehead. There is a sudden gust of cold wind as he reaches the stairs and a noise as of a radio being switched to static as the thunderhead above opens and rain begins to batter the ground. It isn't the thick, heavy rain that Ryan is expecting, but more of a fine mist, like the expensive sprinklers at Harbor High. It coats the steps in seconds, pattering musically on the thin metal as Ryan jogs up them. He trails his fingers along the warm handrail, his left arm angled above his head in a futile attempt at protecting himself.

At the top of the stairs he barges into the unlocked building, leaving the door wide open behind him. Water is dripping down his nose and his bare arms are covered in a sheen. Ryan wipes the palms of his hands on his pants, getting off the worst moisture, but leaving a tacky dampness behind. It's much darker inside with the cloud overhead, but Ryan finds the table in the corner without trouble, running a hand across the surface until he locates the pile of papers. He folds them up and presses them into his rear pocket. Then he steps back out into the pouring rain.

The stairs are slippery now and the handrail cool to touch, though Ryan can still feel the threatening heat in the air. Water splashes under his sneakers. It soaks up into the cuffs of his pants and through his socks, making his feet wet too. When he reaches the bottom again Ryan discovers that the sandy ground is already damp and sticky. It clings to his shoes in great sodden lumps as he tramps through, weighing him down. He bears a little more to the left this time, wanting to avoid the breezeblocks which almost caught his face the last time. In some places, where the composition of ground is soil more than sand, there are patches of mud, and Ryan's feet slip out from under him, throwing him off balance.

The wooden barrier looms suddenly in the dark, barely a shadow against the dim lamp on the street outside. Ryan grabs the top of the barrier and pulls himself up, but this time his mud-weighted sneakers slip against the smooth surface. For a moment he scrambles for purchase, precariously balanced at the top. Ryan just manages to bring his feet over as he topples forward, wrenching his arm as he holds his grip on the wood, needing his feet to hit the ground first.

Once firmly upright again, Ryan runs to his car, glancing to the corner to find the kids gone as he unlocks the car door and scrambles inside, pulling the door hard shut, it's slamming practically inaudible above the steady hissing of the rain. His hands feel rough and Ryan brushes his fingers together, feeling the familiar prickling where splinters have punched through the hard skin.  
He sits for a while, just shivering. Then he removes the papers from his back pocket, smoothing them out with wet, shaking hands. Ryan reaches up to slap the interior lamp and it goes on long enough for him to see that the ink on the pages has begun to run, leaving blue splotches on the paper. The words themselves are bleeding outwards. He unfolds the papers completely and twists to lay them on the back seat where they can begin to dry. The light goes out again.

Wiping his hands again on the upholstery of the car, Ryan shoves the key into the ignition and starts the car. It chugs to life and settles into a steady rhythm. Ryan pulls his seatbelt on, flicks on the headlights and windshield wipers and looks at the clock on the dashboard, the numbers now bright.

Five-forty, and he still has to make a quick run by the store for Theresa.

This is a big birthday for Dan. He can't be late.

Ryan jams the car into gear and pulls off, executing a harsh u-turn, headlights sweeping the buildings and the smooth black tarmac. An abandoned jump-rope, missing one wooden handle, has become tangled in the storm drain grate.

_It has stolen his voice._

He accelerates quickly and the wheels glide on the wet street for a moment until the rubber grips again and the car gains traction with a small jerk to the right.

He remains at a calculated three miles per hour above the speed limit as he drives.

At the fourth red light he turns the radio on and tries to stop watching the clock.

Ryan grips the steering wheel tight in both hands, then takes a deep breath and makes an effort to relax himself. Getting frustrated  
isn't going to stop him being late.

At the fifth red light the radio starts blaring a bad eighties pop song and Ryan leans down to select the CD player instead, cutting off the singer's crooning voice. He is startled up by a nearby car horn and notices that the lights are green. He takes off across the junction just as they turn amber again, leaving the car behind him with reds. Looking in the mirror he can see the driver gesticulating angrily at him, smashing huge hands on the dashboard of his Ford pickup.

'Shadows are falling and I've been here all day,' the CD rasps.

Ryan guns the engine, shooting through the next junction just before the lights go red. Water sprays up on both sides of the car, channelled through the rear wheel arches as the tyres spin.

Inside the car the rain takes on a heavier, metallic sound and Ryan hits construction.

A crane is shifting huge concrete slabs amid workers in flourescent orange jackets.

_He doesn't remember ever feeling this cold, a chill that starts from within._

A line of cones separates the two merging lanes of traffic from the wheels of the truck the equipment is mounted on.

'I've still got the scars that the sun didn't heal.'

Ryan eases the car forward as the traffic slowly filters into a single lane. The clock is ticking down and he's getting anxious, so he pushes the nose of the car forward when the car in front of him merges in, keeping close on its tail, and forcing the next car to yield to him or take off his bumper. It's not until Ryan has slid the Buick into the small gap that he notices it's the same car he left behind at the traffic lights, the driver glaring murder at him through the windshield. Looking through two rain-blurred windows Ryan thinks the man begins to shoulder open his door. The rain pounds down harder suddenly and the traffic begins to flow again.  
He looks at the clock again. Five forty-five.

There is a sudden flash of white and a loud crack. Ryan closes his eyes, spots dancing on his retina, his foot going to the brakes. When Ryan blinks, the power lines overhead are sparking and some of the streetlamps have gone out. The thunder is immense – mountains scraping against mountains – and Ryan is surprised when he doesn't feel the earth shaking from the sound.

The traffic ahead begins to speed up as it passes the construction crew. Ryan risks a look at the clock. Five-fifty. He increases his speed as he hits the long straight, keeping a steady five miles per hour above the limit until the sign for the store appears.

'Behind every beautiful thing there's been some kind of pain.'

Ryan swings into the parking lot, yanking the keys from the ignition while the engine runs on. He shoves the door open, palming the lock shut as he climbs out and closes it behind him with a hard shove, hearing it thud shut as he moves toward the store front.

Inside he heads immediately toward the back of the store to grab a carton of milk, already fumbling in his pocket for his wallet. He catches his shoulder on a rotating display case and a ball of string drops down, bouncing once before rolling slowly away. Ryan retrieves it, tucking in the end which became loose and putting it back on the nearest top shelf.

_It's as though all the lights have suddenly gone out._

Then he grabs a milk carton and trots back down the aisle to the cashier.

“Ryan.”

Ryan closes his eyes wearily, stopping dead in the middle of the aisle.

He has only seen Eddie a couple of times since Theresa told them the truth about the paternity test. Or told Eddie, at least - Ryan was 99.9% sure of the truth before he even came back from Newport.

Eddie looks worn and desperate, the way Ryan felt for years. Still does, sometimes, when Dan needs new clothes and the bills have to be paid. Life is a balancing act, he's decided, and most of the time is spent teetering back and forth over the median, never stopping long enough to get comfortable.

“So, uh, so how's it going?” Eddie asks, not attempting a smile. His eyes are dead, Ryan notices, except for the gleam of anger.

“It's okay. Good, actually,” Ryan admits, feeling the remnants of some buried emotion bubbling up. “You?”

Eddie shrugs, sucking in his bottom lip. “You know how it is.” He locks eyes with Ryan and shrugs again, but Ryan can sense the threatening edge behind every gesture he makes. “Don't you?”

“Yeah,” Ryan says softly, “I know how it is.”

“I've been wondering, lately, what maybe woulda happened if Theresa and me . . . if we'd stayed together.”

Ryan shifts the milk carton to his right hand and flexes numb fingers, absently brings the thumb across his palm and rubs the desensitised tip over his wedding ring. He won't say all the things that he wants to say – that Eddie hit her and that was unforgivable. He doesn't want to be so petty. “But you blew it, and I love her.” He can say those words now.

“I love her too. Don't you ever wonder?” Eddie continues, insistent, “what could have happened?”

“Always,” Ryan replies, the depth of emotion in the word almost levelling him.

Eddie looks away for a second, hands shoved in his jacket pockets. His eyes are fixed on the baby formula on the shelf. A row of pudgy, smiling faces stare back, and Ryan thinks it's odd that they look so similar to the way Daniel did at that age.

"How's your kid?” There is open hostility in that question, a sense of deep-rooted grief restrained, and Ryan has to stop himself from stepping backward.

He draws a shaky breath. “He's five today.”

Eddie nods, setting his jaw. “Yeah? You got a party?”

“Yeah,” Ryan answers, “and I should . . . I'm gonna be late.”

“Right. Don't let me keep ya.”

They stare at each other for a moment.

“I really should--” Ryan starts again, gesturing toward the till. Eddie just nods again and Ryan turns, taking slow paces to the front of the store, the muscles in his shoulders tense.

“Maybe I'll see you around,” Eddie says and Ryan doesn't answer, giving the carton to the cashier and watching her run it through the scanner. He holds his breath for the entire long journey out to his car, and only when he's sitting inside it, the door shut, does he let it out, bracing his arms on the steering wheel and letting his head drop low.

He lowers a hand and turns the ignition. In the corner of Ryan's eye the clock blinks on, telling him that it's five fifty-five. He takes another steadying breath and clamps down on everything. He needs to get home. There's a party to get to.

The house is lit up when Ryan arrives with one minute to spare. He pulls into the garage and makes the short run to the front porch, gift under one damp arm. He bursts through the door into the cosy yellow light and warmth hits him.

He hears a rushed pattering of feet.

“Dad's home! Dad's home!”

“Whoa, whoa,” Ryan says, unable to stop the grin as his son comes barrelling out of the family room, a short blond whirlwind in a blue shirt and jeans. Ryan puts out a hand to stop him. “Dad's wet. You might want to wait till I'm changed.”

Blue eyes are peeking up at him, a wide smile appearing suddenly. “Is that for me?”

“Yeah. Why don't you give it to Mommy to put on the pile, okay? And this too,” Ryan says, handing him the gift and the carton of milk. Small arms wrap around them.

“But this doesn't go on the pile,” Dan observes, hugging the milk.

Ryan laughs. “No, that doesn't go on the pile. Just give it to Mom, and tell her I'll be right in.”

“'Kay,” Dan chirps, padding back into the family room to carry out his errand. Laughter trickles out of the room when Dan opens the door and goes in. Ryan toes his shoes off and walks down to the end of the hallway to the bedroom. He takes off his sopping wet clothes and drapes them over the back of the chair by the desk, then pulls on a clean pair of jeans and a long-sleeved t-shirt. His skin is cold and clammy to the touch. He finds himself shivering again, despite the warmth in the house.

The door to the bedroom flies open.

“Dad! Dad!”

“Hey,” Ryan protests, endeavouring to keep a straight face. “What have I told you about coming in here?”

Dan pauses in his tracks, one foot in the air. “Umm. Don't?”

“Right. So let's try this again outside, huh?”

“'Kay.” Ryan watches Dan trot back out and follows him, closing the door after them.

“Uncle 'Turo said I could go on his motorbike,” Dan bursts out, fumbling the words in his excitement. “His real one, he said. I'll go on the back and he'll drive. It's gonna be so cool.”

“Yeah? What did Mom say?” Ryan asks as they walk to the family room, his hand on Dan's head, running fingers through his soft wavy hair.

“She said yes.”

Ryan smiles. “I'll ask her about that then, shall I?”

Dan darts out from under his hand and bolts through the door to family room. Ryan catches it before it swings shut again and walks through, a grin breaking out on his face.

Sandy and Kirsten are there, another year older but relaxed. Sandy is in the middle of an animated conversation with Arturo while Dan scrambles up his favourite uncle's knee. His other uncle is slouched in the easychair, half asleep, exhausted from another long day in the factory. Seth and Luke have both made a special trip down from Portland. Seth is chatting away to Luke, who stares at the wall, nodding infrequently.

What catches Ryan's eye next is the banner which extends along the entire family room wall, proclaiming 'Happy Birthday Dan'. It's dark blue, decorated with stars and planets, space rockets and aliens. Bunting and silver streamers hang from either side of it to dangle on the beige carpet. It all looks expensive.

_He is floating away, struggling against the tide._

Before anyone else has noted his presence in the room Theresa is moving politely from her conversation with Kirsten and grabbing his arm to pull him aside.

“I'm sorry, Ryan,” she whispers, “Sandy and Kirsten brought them. I tried to explain about the cost, but--”

“--they insisted,” Ryan finishes, with a small smile. “It's okay. I think I can deal for once.”

“I'm sorry,” Theresa says again, “It's just that Kirsten got so excited deciding where they were gonna go . . .”

“It's okay,” Ryan repeats. He leans forward and kisses Theresa on the forehead. “Really, it's fine.”

She smiles widely at him, her eyes bright. And then she nods, swallowing hard. “All right.”

“You should go get the cake.”

“Ryan, it's so good to see you again!” Kirsten hugs him tightly and steps back, a wide smile on her face. She has a few wrinkles now that weren't there a year ago and a grey hair that wasn't there when they joined them for Chrismukkah, but she's tanned and laid back without a glass in her hand and Ryan no longer feels that nervous apprehension around her. He knows she won't end up like his mom – dying alone with a bottle of Jack’s and a cracked sternum.

The lights cut out and Theresa re-enters with the cake, five flames wobbling in the ebb and flow of oxygen. She starts singing in a deep mellow voice that Ryan finds beautiful even though she lost her ability to hold a tune after she gave birth to Daniel. Soon the chatter in the room cuts out and everyone picks up the refrain. Ryan can hear Seth's reedy tenor joining in above Sandy's smooth one. Then there is the expectant hush as Dan blows out the candles. He immediately dives on the pile of gifts, tearing the first one out of the box before Theresa can even switch the lights back on. It looks like a complicated electronic toy.

“Wow, cool!” Dan exclaims, fiddling with it. “John has one of these. Mom, this is what I was talking about, John has one of these. It's so cool.”

“Did you thank the person who gave it to you?” Theresa reminds as she cuts the cake up and puts it on plastic plates.

Dan bits his lip, wide-eyed and swivels his head around. “Thank you Grandpa Sandy, Grandma Kirsten. It's really cool.”

Ryan finds himself smiling again as Dan puts the toy down and opens the next package.

“Hey, dude, long time no see. How's everything going?”

Ryan turns, eyes passing the banner display again and he notices that on one side the bunting has twisted up on itself, forming a loop. It ruins the effect a little.

_Breathing falters, a frivolous mechanism._

“Yeah we're good, man. I heard you got engaged,” Ryan responds, one corner of his lips quirking higher.

Seth shakes his head and grins bashfully. “Yeah, dude. Finally. Jane, I told you about her last March?”

Ryan nods. “Yeah, that's right. That's really cool, Seth. Congratulations.”

“What can I say, all my friends getting hitched, it's gonna play on my mind a little. Speaking of,” Seth continues, casting a look toward Luke, “when are you gonna make the move on Amanda, coz seriously, I think she's getting tired of waiting for ya, and if you don't do something soon she's gonna propose to herself.”

Luke finishes chewing his mouthful of cake, slowly shaking his head.

“I told you I've got it under control.” He walks over, the plastic fork clamped onto the plate in his hand, and slaps Seth on the chest. “This guy just doesn't understand the concept of staying cool,” he tells Ryan. “Girls like to be surprised. Now Jane,” he says, cutting his slice of cake with the fork, “she said yes because she loves you, but you totally blew the surprise, man. So now when people ask her how she got engaged she's not gonna have a romantic story to tell. It'll eat at her,” he states.

Seth just rolls his eyes, unnoticed by Luke who is looking at his plate.

Dan is still delving through the pile of wrapping paper and cardboard and Ryan looks back at the bunting.

_Weight is pressing him down into the darkness._

He starts over to fix it, but is halted by a particularly exuberant 'wow' from Dan, who is holding Ryan's gift in both hands and gazing at it in awe, mouth hanging open. Ryan can see a little of Trey in his son there - Trey, who is currently snoring quietly in the corner.

“Wow,” Dan repeats in a hushed voice as Ryan kneels down next to him. “Thanks, Dad.”

Theresa coughs behind them and Ryan catches the sparkle in Dan's eyes as he looks up. “And thanks, Mom.” He flips the binoculars over again, taking them in from every angle.

“Later we'll go out and I'll show you some of the constellations, okay?” Ryan suggests.

“Yeah,” Dan breathes. In the moment when Dan looks up, he looks so happy that Ryan can barely draw a breath. It catches him this way sometimes, and he finds himself wondering if his own father ever felt like this about him, or even if his mother did, come to that. He wonders a lot of things.

Dan stands up and lays the binoculars on the table, pushing them far back where they won't get knocked and sets about gathering up all the loose paper. Ryan helps him pack it all into the trash bag. He takes the bag into the kitchen, accidentally bumping into Theresa on his way back out of the room. She runs a hand through her hair, tugging a little at the curls.

“We've run out of coffee,” she says. “I totally forgot to check, but we don't have any left.”

Ryan shrugs. “No problem. I'll go get some.”

“You just got back, and it's still raining out. You'll get soaked again.”

Ryan snorts. “A little rain isn't gonna kill me.” He pecks her on the cheek as she slaps him lightly on the arm. Ryan slides his feet back into his damp sneakers and grabs his warmest coat from the hooks by the door. “I'll be back in five minutes,” he tells her. He sees Theresa smirk and wave goodbye with a wiggle of her fingers as he shuts the door behind him.

Ryan runs through the rain and back into the garage, jumping into the car and starting the ignition to get the heater going. The CD player clicks a few times and comes back on halfway through a song.

'Sometimes my burden seems more than I can bear. It's not dark yet, but it's getting there.'

Ryan backs out of the garage and onto the street, then accelerates away. The rain is pounding on the car now as if it wants to break through the thin protection of metal to get at him. He heads toward the closest store, one of the last family-run businesses in the area. They sell a little of everything at reasonable prices, and Ryan figures it might not be a bad idea to pick up some flashlight batteries while he's there.

'I was born here and I'll die here against my will.'

The windshield wipers are on full and Ryan can still hardly see the street, covered in dark patches where puddles are beginning to stretch toward the middle.

'I know it looks like I'm moving, but I'm standing still.'

At one junction trucks have caused heavy surface wear and water has covered it completely, a long unreflective inky pool like something out of a horror movie. When Ryan accelerates across it, the car aquaplanes. The shock of totally losing control makes him panic, his foot going to the brake. It's the catch of the brake pedal's tread on the sole of his sneaker which re-engages Ryan with the situation, and he yanks his foot off the pedal before he depresses it, letting the vehicle coast across, momentum increasing. His knuckles are white on the steering wheel.

Finally Ryan feels the tires connect with tarmac again and he lets out a long breath. His heart is still pounding in his chest, but slowing and Ryan relaxes his bloodless fingers.

'Every nerve in my body is so vacant and numb.'

He is relieved when he can pull into the parking lot of the convenience store, as close to the doors as possible.

'It's not dark yet, but it's getting there.'

Ryan is very damp when he pushes through the single glass door, his hair in dripping clumps. Deb is leaning on the cashier's desk, reading a magazine when the bell tinkles brightly above Ryan's head. Looking up, she smiles at him, deep crow's feet shooting up to her white hair as she does so. He smirks back.

“It's a little wet out,” he says, pulling at the hem of his jacket to peel it off of his skin. He lets go and it drops back into place with a wet slap.

“So what are you doing out?” Deb asks in her thick Oklahoman accent, “I thought you Southern Californians were allergic to rain.”

“We need coffee,” Ryan explains, heading away to find the aisle.

“You braved the end of the world for coffee?” Deb's voice rings out across the quiet store. “You'll have to tell that to Ron, he'll never believe me.”

Ryan walks down an aisle and picks up a jar. “We have guests,” he calls back, “can't let them go home in this without coffee. You have batteries?”

“Yeah, furthest aisle, next to the light bulbs.”

Ryan follows Deb’s directions, now completely out of sight from the front of the store.

“Party, huh? Wait, I knew that. It's your kid's fifth, right?”

“Right,” Ryan answers. He scans the rows of batteries and picks a few different packets. He takes a shortcut back, passing through the paint aisle. He can hear Deb scrambling around at the counter.

“I'm sure I had something here for him. Coz Theresa was in here the other week, and I remember Ron said she'd told him about it . . .”

Interior paint, exterior paint, spray paint . . .

“ . . . and I said to Ron it'd be nice to give you something for the little tyke, seeing as you helped us out so much, especially when we had that trouble with the faucet . . .”

Foam cladding, window putty . . .

“ . . . so I'm sure I picked something out, well I know I picked it out, but I thought I put it over here, coz I remember saying to Ron to remember it was there and if any of y'all came in to give it to you . . .”

Roman shades, boxes of horizontal blinds, and one on display . . .

“ . . . and I'm sure I told him coz I thought I remembered him saying that your Brendan would just love it. Oh, here it is. But I forgot to put a label on it. Is 'happy birthday Brendan' okay? Or does he prefer Dan, seeing as that's what y'all call him all the time?”

The blinds are blue, almost the exact shade Daniel's nursery was. Ryan remembers Theresa picking the paint out. They have been hung with the slats closed tight. Ryan can see the kink in the cord where it was tied up, but somehow the knot has become loose. It drags on the floor now.

_Everything is so quiet. Theresa went out to her mom's a few minutes ago and Daniel went down a half-hour ago. These are the times Ryan is coming to really appreciate, when Daniel is asleep and Theresa isn't asking things of him and he can just relax for a while. The television cuts to commercials and Ryan decides to check. The baby monitor that Sandy and Kirsten bought them hasn't registered a peep since Theresa left, but sometimes Ryan just likes to watch him sleep. He pushes the door open just far enough to slip in without letting the light from the hallway fall on the crib, and walks softly over. Daniel isn't snuggled at the top like he usually is, but Ryan doesn't worry, he's moving a lot now that he's learnt to crawl, and he has a tendency to wiggle himself down until his feet touch the bottom. It's as if he needs to know, even in his sleep, that he is secure. Sometimes, Ryan wonders if Daniel somehow got that from him, despite not being his biological son._

_Ryan moves a little closer so that he can see into the crib properly, confused when Daniel isn't there. Confusion quickly spirals into panic and Ryan runs back to the door and puts the lights on, not caring if Daniel is there and he wakes him up, as long as Ryan knows he's safe. He still can't see him, just an empty room and a bundle of blankets hanging into the crib._

_Oh God, oh God, oh God. The words run like a mantra through his head until they lose all meaning. His chest feels tight, as if a ten ton weight is pressing him down into the darkness._

_He darts back the crib, running his hands along the mattress, needing to confirm what he's seeing. Ryan starts to pick up the blanket and it's heavy. Much too heavy._

_He blinks. He can see a yellow embroidered rabbit in the folds of the blue material just like Daniel's sleeper suit, and tiny white toes protruding from the end, standing, feet firm on the floor of the crib. His hands are limp, though, his lips the same deep blue of the suit he's wearing. Ryan shakes his head,and it's as though all the lights have suddenly gone out. He doesn't know how he sees the cord from the window blinds tight around Daniel's neck, because everything is black and he is floating away, struggling against the tide. He doesn't know how he disentangles him. A moment or a lifetime later Daniel is on the floor and Ryan is breathing for him, because Daniel is too little to understand the command. He doesn't remember ever feeling this cold, a chill that starts from within._

_Breathe dammit. Ryan wants to scream it, but he can't - it's taken his words, the pain that burrows into his chest and explodes in his lungs. An ache so strong it's beyond comprehension. It has taken his words, it has stolen his voice._

_He can hear Theresa crying behind him and he tells her to get out, call an ambulance. Because Daniel's lips are blue and Ryan can't tell him to breathe. But Theresa just pulls him away, and his own breathing falters - a frivolous mechanism anyway if he is incapable of getting his son to breathe. She is a suffocating warmth against him and he struggles, trying to get back to the lifeless baby on the floor. But she keeps a tight grip on him, inconsolable, crying against his shoulder. His body shakes with her wracking sobs. And she runs her hand through his hair._

“It's okay,” she says, although it will never be okay again. “Shhh,” she whispers even though she's the one that's making all the noise. He wants her to stop crying in his ear.

“Ryan, sweetie, it's okay now.”

He gasps a breath and it stutters back out. His knees are numb and he is shaking so much his teeth are chattering. Theresa is holding him, rubbing circles on his back. Ryan chokes again and leans into her, gripping her so tightly he knows he must be hurting her.

“Shhh, I know honey. I know.”

“Oh, God,” he groans. It's him that's sobbing. Sobbing on his knees in the middle of the window aisle of the local convenience store. He thinks he could cry forever.

“It's okay, baby, we understand,” comes Deb's voice, and an accompanying hand rubbing his arm.

Theresa's t-shirt is soaked where his face is touching it, and he knows he's still hurting her, clutching her so tight, but he's terrified that if he lets go she will disappear.

Eventually the tears stop coming and they all kneel there silent. He feels numb and far away.

“I'm so sorry,” he hears Deb tell Theresa, “I didn't realise he was gonna come down here, he usually avoids this aisle. I should've said something.”

“It's not your fault. It's been a rush today,” Theresa explains, her voice deep vibration against his ear, “he probably forgot.”

“Come on, son, let's get you away from that.” Ron is there too, now, and helps Theresa to hoist Ryan onto his feet, using his body to hide the blinds from view. Ryan just stares at the ground as they lead him out to the back of the store. Deb goes off for a while and brings back a mug of coffee, steaming hot with way too much sugar and Ryan drinks it, not caring if it scalds his throat on the way down. He shakes too much, his wedding ring clanging against the ceramic, and Theresa has to steady the mug for him.

“What did you tell them?” he whispers afterwards, throat still tight from crying everything out of him.

“I said your car broke down and I had to come pick you up.” Theresa whispers too, knowing that volume is too much for the fragile hold Ryan has. “They believed me,” she adds, knowing Ryan needs to hear it.

He nods, slowly and deliberately. “We should get back, then.”

Ron helps him to Theresa's car. The rain has eased slightly, the drops are cool and refreshing and bring him back to his senses a little.

He's stopped shaking now.

Theresa drives home silently, slowly through the wet streets, letting him come back to himself.

When she pulls up into the garage she turns the engine off and just sits, waiting.

Ryan takes a few deep breaths. He runs his hand over the door release, his fingers clammy against the cold plastic. Then he nods jerkily and gets out. They walk to the front door and Theresa stays behind him, not touching, following him into the house.

The door clicks shut.

“Dad, Dad, Dad!” Dan is tearing out of the family room and launching himself at Ryan before he can take his coat off. “Grandpa Sandy helped me tie my shoe. See?” Dan holds up a foot for inspection, proudly showing the laces. “He told me how again and then I did it, all by myself. I did two loops, and over and under and again, like you said, so now it won't come undone, right?”

_Everything is so quiet._

Ryan forces a smile and bends down to inspect. “That's right. Now it won't come undone.”

**Author's Note:**

> SPOILERY WARNING: Contains graphic description of the death of an infant by hanging.


End file.
